


The Pearl Key

by chains_archivist



Category: The Key Game (Official)
Genre: Boys in Chains, Explicit Sexual Content, Key Game, M/M, Slaves, Work In Progress, Yaoi, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Lisitsa</p><p>Michele Homais needs a vacation but soon realises he has no idea what he's gotten himself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Description of the Pearl Key

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Fandom: Yaoi Key fic - for a closer description of the 'key' game, please go [here](http://castelaine.tripod.com/)  
> Pairing: Original   
> Rating: PG (will change)   
> Warnings: None yet... eventually it will probably get citrus-y   
> Summary: Michele Homais needs a vacation but soon realises he has no idea what he's gotten himself...

 

Name: Karnage

Physical: light lilac/lavender almost-white hair and lavender wings. purple eyes. Translucent skin. Wears nothing but leather pants (no shirt, no shoes ...etc.) Will sometimes wear a collar and/or a belly chain if his owner so desires...after his owner has shown dominance over him by beating him to a pulp. Hair down to floor (has never had his hair cut...it's his prize possession).  Wings are large (they are higher/taller than he is and sweep on the ground).  Golden eyes that light up in battle  Small fangs  Honey-tanned skin

Personality: Sullen, warlike. Usually picked by those who like to have a bit of a fight before they get down to business. He thinks of self as a prisoner of war...to the winner goes the spoils. He's very honorable and will fight until defeated...very determined not to be defeated (reason why he changes hands so quickly)

Experience: Has had several owners. Changes hands quite easily because he never gives up fighting...has never been broken before. Sex is all about power for Karnage. He hates giving it up and will fight all the harder the next time.

Room: Filled with tons of practice swords and other sparring equipment. Bed is a large bearskin or two on the ground. There's a large fireplace...no technology lighting, etc. unless the owner requests it.


	2. Part One

"You need a vacation," she had told him.  Michele Homais was beginning to  wonder if the map, the pass, the whole thing had been another one of Jocelyn's sick jokes when the Palace loomed into view down the road.  He  could only assume it was the Palace Joce had told him about, a sprawling  marble mansion out in the middle of nowhere.  It seemed so close now that  Michele wondered how he could not have spotted it earlier with nothing  between him and it but the road and open fields.  It had risen like a cloud  castle suddenly into view

As Michele approached, the road under his car changed from dirt and gravel  to paving stones.  He pulled up at a massive wrought iron gate.  Though the  palace was far back from the gate, there was a man standing there as if he  had been waiting for him.  The man was tall and impossibly thin.  He wore a  black uniform and the dark colour against his white skin made him look  positively gaunt

The wraith man, as Michele dubbed him, came to the window and tapped on it  with one long, black-nailed finger.  Closer up, the gate-man seemed even  more cadaverous with lank shoulder-length black hair and equally flat black  eyes.  Michele shivered, but rolled down the window.  "Yes?" he asked, his  voice cracking nervously

"May I see your pass, sir?" the wraith man asked, his voice incongruously  soft and slick as oil.  "Of.... of course," Michele stammered, fumbling for the  pass Joce had given him.  "Here."  He handed the pass to the man, forcing  himself not to jerk away in revulsion when the man's spidery fingers brushed  his

The wraith examined Michele's pass with expressionless eyes and, seemingly  satisfied, handed it back.  He smiled, a truly disturbing expression on his  white face, and waved Michele on.  "Welcome to the Palace, sir," he said  smoothly

Michele, eager to leave the weird gate keeper behind, continued up the  driveway which was now made of tile patterned in rose and beige.  It seemed  almost wrong to drive over something so beautiful.  Beyond the gate and the  high stone wall that closed off the Palace grounds were lush gardens full of  creeping plants and bright flowers Michele had never seen before.  Here and  there, he saw men and women walking among the flowers accompanied by boys or  girls, he wasn't sure, who looked very like Michele imagined nymphs would,  beautiful, graceful and full of vigorous youth

Another servant was waiting for Michele at the front door as he pulled up.   She was much less intimidating than the man at the gate, appealing even,  tall and poised, round of limb with skin like warm honey and coppery red  hair.  She wore a filmy green dress that didn't leave much to the  imagination.  The woman beckoned to Michele and he got out of the car and  joined her on the front steps.  "Come inside," she said, taking his arm.   "Your car will be taken care of."  She smelled like spice, cinnamon or  nutmeg, maybe

Michele followed the woman.  She led him down an empty hallway to a foyer   that opened up like a ballroom with a high domed ceiling and mosaic floors.   The whole place was very impressive.  He tried not to gape open-mouthed as  the woman led him up to what he guessed was the front desk.  She left him  there at the desk and drifted back down the hall.  Michele watched her go,  unable to turn away until she was out of sight.  He turned to the desk. The woman sitting there looked quite ordinary, almost out of place with  everything Michele had seen so far.  She was dressed in plain white, her  dark hair tied up demurely in a bun.  She looked like one of Joce's  secretaries.  "Hello sir.  Welcome to the Palace.  I will assign you your  room.  Do you have a Key preference?"  Something about the way she said key  gave Michele pause, like he could hear the capital letter in her tone.  "Um....  I guess not," he said.  "I don't know.  What have you got?" he asked,  thinking of theme rooms

"Well, let me check the database," the receptionist said.  She turned to  her computer and began pulling up menus.  "It seems that the Diamond and the  Pearl Keys are the only ones available right now.  We are in our busiest  season.  Will that be acceptable?  You may wait for another Key to free up  if you wish."

"No, that's fine," Michele said.  "I'll take.... the Pearl Key."  The woman  nodded and reached under the desk.  She pulled out a wooden box and laid it  on top.  Carefully, Michele opened the box.  Inside was a long,  old-fashioned key with a simple shape, made of some kind of metal, steel or  silver, maybe, inlaid with mother of pearl.  He picked it up.  The metal was  cool against his fingers

"Return it when you no longer need it," the receptionist said.  She waved  to another woman in white who gestured for Michele to follow.  "I will take  you to your room," she said.

******************

The Pearl Key held the elegantly curved sword and ran a testing finger along  its edge.  It was habit.  He knew the sword was an ornament, a prop like  everything else in the room.  A prisoner would never be allowed a sharpened  blade.  There were times, like now, that he considered plunging the sword  into his own body and getting free of the glamorously disguised jail, but  then he would think of how much he would rather spit his masters

The Pearl Key hefted the sword in both hands, ignoring the burning in his  abused muscles.  He had taken far worse without complaint.  He launched  himself into a kata, thrusting the sword at imagined targets, the blade  swiping in vicious glittering arcs

A knock at his door interrupted him.  The Pearl Key spun around in a storm  of flying lavender hair , dark wings and flashing metal.  "Come," he said  shortly, fighting against his shameful breathlessness.  A white-garbed  Palace servant, a diminutive woman he was all too use to seeing at his door  with a first aid kit, stepped in.  But there was no little white box in her  hands today.  A new master, then.  "Karnage," she murmured, "prepare  yourself."

The Pearl Key didn't answer.  He wasn't expected to.  He turned away from  her and drew his dark wings tightly about himself like a cloak, the only  comfort, the only retreat he would allow himself.  The door shut softly  behind the Palace servant.  For a long moment, he simply stood there, then  the sword clattered from nerveless fingers.

******************

Michele fumbled with the old key, nerves making him clumsy.  Everything up  until now had just seemed so surreal.  He couldn't imagine what he would  find on the other side of that door.  The pearl key turned smoothly in the  lock and the heavy door swung in on its own

Inside the room was dark.  A single oil lamp burnt on the wall, casting a  circular pool of orange light on the far side of the room, but the rest was  all shadows.  Michele felt around for a light switch, but he could find  none.  "Hn," he said aloud, perplexed and a little intrigued.  "Must be one  of those rustic get-away type places."  From what he could see in the dim  light, the room was rustic indeed.  The walls were bare except for the back  wall on which several decorative swords, spears and other weapons hung and  the room was empty of furniture.  In the corner, there was what looked like  a thick mattress of some sort; the bed, Michele guessed.  At first glance,  it certainly didn't look like he was going to get what Joce paid for

Michele let out an explosive breath and ran a hand through his tangled  brown hair.  He was beginning to wish he hadn't packed so light when he  thought he saw a movement in the corner.  Michele tensed, suddenly  uncertain.  Was there someone in his room?  He held his breath.  The oil  lamp cast wildly shifting shadows on the walls.  My imagination, he told  himself.  Just my imagination.  You're too tense.  That's why Joce sent you  on vacation.  But, no.  Something told Michele it wasn't just stress playing  games with his head, something the receptionist had said.... Do you have a  preference....? A soft rustle of cloth on cloth, another movement, barely perceptible.

"Hello?"  Michele called out with an authority he didn't feel.  "Is somebody  there?"   A solid shadow detached itself from the wall in the darkest corner  of the room where the bed was.  It resolved itself into human shape and  Michele stepped back a space.  By the light coming from the hallway and the  open door, Michele could tell that the person was a man, but not much more.   "Who are you?" he asked the stranger

The stranger stepped into the light.  He was a tall, solid-looking man with  an angular face and long.... very long.... pale hair woven in dozens of thin  braids and swept back from his face.  He wore what looked like a thick cloak  of iridescent purplish feathers.  As nervous as he was, Michele couldn't  help but think that the man possessed a hard-edged elegance, seeming at once  fierce and beautiful.  The man stood with his arms crossed, head raised, a  stance of calculated arrogance.  He offered no answer to Michele, but  pointed to the open door

At first, Michele thought the man was ordering him to leave, that the  white-garbed woman had accidentally taken him to the wrong room, but then he  thought otherwise.  Cautiously, he turned to look in the direction that the  man was pointing.  On the door was a plain card that read åKarnage' in pale  violet script.  Odd, he didn't remember that being there.  Michele looked  back at the man and swallowed heavily.  "Is that...." his voice croaked.  He  cleared his throat and tried again.  "Are you Karnage?  Is that your name?"

The man shrugged impassively.  "Sometimes."  His voice was sibilant, hoarse,  but powerful - like a bird's - Michele thought

"Well, I'm Michele.  Michele Homais.  That doesn't ever change," he said,  trying for a smile, anything to relieve the tension.  Nothing.  "Um.... am I in  the right room, Because that woman...."

"Yes," the man interrupted.  "This is your room, master."  For a moment,  Michele was almost relieved until his brain caught up with him.  "What do  you mean, 'master'?" he asked

The man frowned.  "You are my new master, aren't you?  I am the Pearl Key.   You asked for me, didn't you?"

"You're the key?" Michele choked, everything coming into place

"Yes," the man replied, clearly confused and a little annoyed by Michele's  surprise

"Of course!  The Pearl Key!"  Michele put a hand to his head.  "So.... what do  you do, exactly?"

"That's not up to me."  The man turned away from him and went back to sit,  straight-backed on the bed.  It seemed that would be the extent of the  introductions.

******************

The Pearl Key sat on his bed, legs drawn up, leaning against the wall's  comforting solidity.  His new master was watching him and pretending not to.  Karnage didn't bother to hide his returning stare as the man moved about,  looking for a place to put the few clothes and personal belongings he had  brought with him.  None of his other masters had ever brought much of  anything with them.  Just where did the man think he was, anyway.  What  would he need with two changes of clothes? Karnage didn't know quite what to think of this master.  The man, Michele,  he'd said, was obviously lost.  He'd never been to the Palace before.   Still.... no one chose the Pearl Key without knowing what they were getting  into.  This master didn't look particularly strong.  Did he think he could  charm his Key into doing what he wanted?  Hn.  Did he really think no one  had thought of that before?  Karnage had seen everything - everything one  human being could do to another.  He wouldn't let himself be tricked.

******************

The Key was still sitting on the pile of furs that served as a bed.  He  hadn't moved since Michele had spoken to him.  He watched Michele like a  hawk, not even bothering to try to disguise the fact.  Michele smiled at  that thought.  How could he be angry?  He himself was totally unable to take  his eyes off the other man as much as he tried to hide it.  He was so  fierce, so mysterious, so dangerous and all of that only made him more  beautiful

Michele tore his eyes away, worried that the Key would somehow know his  thoughts.  After everything else, that didn't seem so impossible.  It was  something Michele had never been able to tell anyone, not even Joce.  How  could he tell his boss and best friend that he was attracted to other men?   What would she think of him then?  Tentatively, Michele sole another peek at  the Key.  It seemed the man had lost interest in him.  His held lolled  against the wall and he looked up at the ceiling with closed eyes.  What was  he here for, anyway?  Was he going to be staying in the room with Michele  the whole time he was here?  What would he do then?  Michele was  uncomfortable enough just having him this close for this short time

"Stop staring at me," the Key suddenly said without opening his eyes.

Michele nearly jumped out of his skin.  He quickly looked everywhere but at  the Key.  "Sorry," he murmured, thinking that he was probably blushing and  glad that the room was so dark.  He was even more embarrassed when the Key  opened his eyes and actually turned to look at him, seeming at once  astonished and almost confused.

He smothered the expression immediately and  his face turned hard again.  "Hn," was all he said.

******************

Karnage turned away from his master in a huff, but he couldn't help but  sneak another sidelong glance.  The man stood slumped, staring at his feet.   Karnage had never seen anyone look so defeated.  He just couldn't figure the  man out.  His master had apologized to him.  Actually apologized when  Karnage technically had no right to tell him not to stare in the first  place.  No one had *ever* apologized to him before.  Perhaps he had  been too harsh in seeking to hide his surprise.... No!  He couldn't start  thinking that way.  He was a prisoner.  Courteous or not, this man was his  enemy.  He wouldn't drop his guard again.


	3. Part Two

It was late and Michelle was starting to look longingly at the bed.  He was  also more than a little unnerved at  Karnage's constant stare.  He would  have liked to just go to sleep and forget about the strange and beautiful  man, but when he started for the soft, inviting pile of furs, the Key glared  death at him.  Michelle would have backed off, but he was tired from his  long drive and, well, wasn't this Key supposed to do what he said?

"Look,"  he finally said, annoyed with the man's attitude.  "What's your problem,  anyway?  Maybe you don't want me here, but the fact is, I'm stuck here and  there's only one bed.  If you don't like it, you can sleep on the floor."

The Key drew himself up angrily.  "How dare you speak to me like that!" he  exclaimed.  He loomed over Michelle, his burning eyes flashing gold and his  lips pulled back in a fierce snarl.  If Michelle hadn't been so angry  himself, he would have been totally overwhelmed be the intimidating picture  the Key made.

"I'm tired of you acting like.... like some big-shot warrior or  whatever, and I'm tired of you trying to push me around," he snapped.  "You  came with the room.  Doesn't that tell you something?"

"I am no man's slave!" Karnage roared.  In a furious riot of colour and  movement, he threw himself at Michele.  The beautiful feather cloak, not in  fact a cloak at all, resolved itself into two dark, sweeping wings that made  the Key look beautifully and terrifyingly like an avenging angel.  Michele  barely had time to register the fact before Karnage's arms wrapped around  him in a crushing embrace and tumbled him to the floor.  On pure instinct,  Michele lashed out with his fists, catching the other man in the face.  The  Key's head jerked back and Michele took the opportunity to unbalance the  man's weight and roll him underneath his own body, pinning him with his  knees on Karnage's elbows. The Key snarled and thrashed and Michele could see that his eye teeth  extended into tiny fangs.  What was this man?  The Key lunged up, trying to  dislodge him, but Michele threw all his weight against the man, slamming him  back down.  He heard a sickening crack as one of Karnage's wings caught  under him and he knew that the fragile bones had shattered for the man made  a soundless scream and went suddenly limp beneath him, all the fight flowing  out of him like the blood that seeped slowly from his tortured wing. Horrified, Michele climbed off the unconscious man.  He had acted without  thinking.  He hadn't meant to hurt the Key, only to defend himself.

Michele  didn't know what to do.  Karnage needed help, but could he call the Palace  workers?  What would they do?  What would they say?  No, Michele would take  care of the Key himself.  Karnage was too heavy for Michele to lift, but he  gently turned the injured man over and, as carefully as he could, half  carried, half dragged him over to the pile of furs that was his bed. Michele laid the Key down on his stomach on the bed.  He looked him over.   Other than the damage done to his right wing, Karnage seemed all right.

Michele examined the bloody broken wing.  He could see where the bones  protruded from the thin skin.  Gingerly, he touched them and the unconscious  Key didn't stir.   Gritting his teeth in sympathetic pain, Michele set the  bones.  Karnage moaned lowly when Michele snapped the broken bones back into  place, but he was too far gone in shock and pain and he simply lay there as  Michele bound the wing as best he could with strips torn from his shirt. Having done all he could, Michele settled himself on the bed beside the  prostrate Key.

He drew up his knees and hugged them to his chest.  He  looked at the faint blood stains already seeping through the makeshift  bandage.  Jesus, Michele thought.  He had done that.  The Key could have  been seriously hurt because of him.  Gently, Michele stroked his good wing,  noticing here and there, other scars, some old and silvered, some newer,  darker marks of past pain.  What happened to you? Michele thought.  Karnage  moaned in his sleep and Michele put a tender hand to his fevered brow,  smoothing thin lavender braids out of his face and murmuring soothing  nonsense sounds.  The Key quieted after that, lulled into peaceful sleep and  Michele settled back against the wall, keeping a reassuring hand pressed in  the Key's. Half Michele's heart scorned him for showing such tenderness to a man who  had provoked and attacked him.  He deserved what he got, that part spoke,  but another more compelling part whispered that no one deserved to suffer.   If Michele could help Karnage through the pain he had inflicted on him, he  would stay up all night by the Key's side.  Those were his last thoughts  before he too slipped into restful sleep.

******************

When Karnage awoke, it was with the same familiar pain that greeted him  every other morning after a night of his master's careless games, but  something was different.  Karnage opened his eyes and saw his newest master,  Michele it was, asleep, leaning against the wall, his tousled head drooping  over his chest.  What's more, the young man's slack fingers were twined with  Karnage's own in a loose, possessive clasp.  What?  Had the man sat over him  all night?  What was this?  What was this tenderness, this concern for him?   It was unnatural.  They had fought and Karnage had lost and that was all.   He was not an invalid, a child that needed to be cared for.  He had had much  worse in the past from far less compassionate men.  He didn't want this  fool's pity.  So what was it about the sight of his sleep-softened face that  warmed Karnage like a physical touch? Moving as carefully as he could, so as not to wake the other man, Karnage  tried to roll over and push himself up.  He bit back a cry as his battered  wing was jostled.

Suddenly, Michele's fingers tightened on his.  "You  shouldn't get up by yourself," he said.  "I'll help you."

Karnage just  stared.  He could have sworn the man was asleep.  No one had ever been able  to trick him before.  What grated most on his nerves, though, was that he  didn't think his master had even been trying to trick him.  Slowly, firmly,  he withdrew his hand from Michele's and hugged himself with his wings,  drawing the injured one close to his body.

"Why are you doing this?" Karnage asked, hating the weak, confused sound of  his own voice.  "What kind of man are you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," his master answered.  "I helped you because  you needed me, because it was my fault you were hurt."

"I don't need your help!" Karnage snapped.  "This is nothing to me."

"I see that," Michele said softly, reaching out and tracing a finger down a  silver scar that snaked down Karnage's  ribs to his hip.

Karnage shivered.  "Stop that," he said just as softly.  He didn't want the other man to know  how good that felt, to be touched just once with tenderness.

"Sorry," Michele said, withdrawing his hand and blushing furiously.

"No," Karnage said stiffly.  "I'm sorry."  It was a hard and shamming thing  to do, but it felt right somehow.

"Karnage...."

"Please," he said.  "My name is Zayn."

To Be Continued....

 


End file.
